


A Ghost's Identity

by Somedrunkpirate



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Experimental Style, Identity Issues, M/M, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate/pseuds/Somedrunkpirate
Summary: It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.





	A Ghost's Identity

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! *waves* New writer in the 00q fandom. 
> 
> Don't kill me too much for writing this!

James Bond is as much of a title as 007 is, and _this_ James has the luck – misfortune – to share the same first name with this age old identity.

His last name, the real one, has quietly disappeared from knowledge, carefully polished out of existence to prepare for James’ transformation into the shell that is James Bond: a character within a story that tells the silent war of spies and agents, a role to be played. James knew the consequences of taking on the name, all of them did. The responsibility of losing himself in an agent that has traditionally little to none of the complexity a true human being embodies. But who needs complexity in the type of situations the field provides? The depths of a human personality are nothing more than restrictions to the capability of an agent; the weapon, a man-made killer.

Bond is tailored nicely to the needs of the system that trained him. Cut from a fabric of two dimensional characteristics that are practical and necessary for an agent of this calibre. Ruthless, clever, competent, physical perfection build the basic core, with the womanizer trait as the finishing touch. This cherry on top of the British pie called ‘perfection’ is the consequence of the realisation that certain human urges are too much of a bother to train out of an agent, as a general rule. So they shaped the character around it, by making it accepted but – _human connections can impede missions and pull a Bond out of his single-minded focus, this must be prevented_ – only quick and casual.

If you have nothing, you can’t lose anything. And when you have nothing to lose, there are no limits to what you can achieve.

Physical requirements are trained, intelligence is tested, and commitment to the mission is measured. There are some things you have to be before you’re chosen to become James Bond.

James fancied himself the first rebellious one of his kind, for a little while. But when he starts to learn his – their – history, he soon learns he is everything but. The highly classified information of his predecessors is open to only him now. The idea is to pass on the knowledge, let the new reincarnation learn from the mistakes before him. It never seems to happen though.

James Bond is not just a list of requirements and a personality to integrate within yourself.

James Bond is a pattern.

Put enough desperate survivalists in the same type of hellish circumstances, with all the same kind of training and the same psychological mess inside their brains, and the outcome will also stay the same. There is a pattern of decisions that will be made and James can’t escape his, so he doesn’t try to, not really. The pattern won’t be broken, and sometimes James wonders with what face Bond will appear next, when his time has run out.

James Bond is an enemy with an unending supply of lives; how do you kill a man that never really dies?

The pattern won’t break. It can’t.

James knows that he has become Bond gradually, too gradually; it took years to fully click. It made it more painful than it was supposed to be. The transition from human to _this_. Maybe it took him longer because he kept a name, his name. Where others could trash their previous selves away cleanly, for James there will always be a tie to the person he isn’t anymore, the past that doesn’t exist anymore. Sometimes he loathes it, hates that he can’t ever fully forget.

Sometimes he grasps at it desperately, drowning in the oppressive and bloody darkness that encompasates him, the only shimmer of light that is still left in himself. Bond is a monster, truly, and sometimes he needs the reminder that that is not all he is.

Q helps.

Q says his name like it’s the only one James has ever had.

On bad days, Q wraps around him and tells every inch of skin who he truly is. After it feels like he’s tattooed all over with the whispers of his words.

The ghosts fade for a little while, but the tattoos are temporary, washed away by fresh blood. The ghosts come back, reinforced by new recruits.

So Q will start all over again. He has not, not once, complained about it.

Q saves him, from the darkness. But.

Q is not allowed - _impede the mission, pull out of focus. The focus. The obsession._

How can James be single-minded if he has to be so many people?

There is more than only the mission, or Q is a mission. He doesn’t know what the orders are, what the end goal is. He made up his own to counter the void of possibility. He likes it when Q smiles, he will try and cause that more, it’s something to strive for. But he also knows that _this,_ what they have, or don’t have, hurts Q.

It’s not allowed.

Q deserves better.

James will die soon anyway.

\--

The click of the trigger.

The piercing sound of the shot.

Blood on a vest.

A scream. A silence.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

It should have been his name – a fake name, real name. Fake-real name – on the grave. _James Bond._

Not.

No-

Q.

No-

Please.

 _staywithme_  

_I need you to keep breathing._

_staywithme_

Q.

Please.

No-

\---

 

Can you aim a gun with a broken hand?

( _Heart_ )

( _Soul_ )

James doesn’t know how to live without the whispers.

The silence hurts, it cuts, it breaks him.

Bond. James, Bond.

My name is.

 

\---

Bond flicks his half-finished cigarette to the grated floor of the emergency stairway he’s been crouching on for over four hours. A stake out means aching bones and shaking thighs, but Bond can handle pain. He doesn’t feel much of it these days.

The mark. Brown curls and green vests. A little too short to be a ghost of the past, but close enough to make Bond hesitate, for just a millisecond, for a fraction of a breath.

He takes the shot.

“Mark down, all clear. Leaving the area. Bond out.”

Hesitation is a sign of disintegration.

Bond has heard the whispers, the rumors. There is talk of retirement, of damaged goods.

Bond is a realist. He knows he’s damaged but that doesn’t mean he can’t do the work. They all are damaged. It’s what makes them good at their jobs.

Make the kill, find the thief, charm the girl. It’s a program, a pattern. Bond knows how to make them work.

He doesn’t need retirement. If he had, he would have pulled the trigger a year ago. Gun to his head, trying to follow the ghost. A futile action.

He doesn’t need death. He just needs work.

And work they give him.

\---

She’s got long blonde hair, almost as shiny as her thousand dollar smile. Her nails are light blue and impeccable as she offers her hand. A professional skirt, grey but not boring, hides at least one gun and two combat knives. Bond takes her hand gently, and smirks as he shakes it.

He likes women with hidden teeth.

“007, I’m your new Quartermaster. Sorry for the delay, there were some internal messes to work through. I presume you knew him well, my predecessor?”

“He was a good Quartermaster,” Bond says. He’s not lying. “But other than that, I didn’t know him well, personally.”

He’s lying. Bond knows he is. But not really.

He doesn’t remember much of that time.

It’s more effective, not to remember that time. For the work.

“I’ve got big shoes to fill,” Q replies.

She smiles too much.

“So what do you prefer, your title or your number?” Q asks, “I need to know how to refer you as, in the course of us working together.”

Bond looks away. He needs a cigarette. He needs to work.

“Bond. Call me, Bond.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Brooke, nonnie and Autumn for checking this lil thing :)
> 
> Hello 00q fandom, I write angst. A lot. Hope you liked it though :D
> 
> I thought this was a nice way to announce myself to this fandom. Now you know what to expect from me. Hint: It's not fluff.


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